


The Pony Express

by Wasfiyah



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wasfiyah/pseuds/Wasfiyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A loner by trade, Colin is one of few people who travel from community to community couriering letters, medicine and other goods to communities across America. Rain or shine, through lands infested with thieves, bandits and the dead, the mail always goes through. Set 20 years after Days Gone Bye</p><p>Mostly original characters, a few characters, and places from TV shows, comics, appear now and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The North Atlantic Ocean air stung, spring hadn’t yet reached this far north. Colin rubbed his numb cheeks, his horse Charlie was becoming restless...she wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long. He patted his chestnut mare, to which she snorted in response. Digging around in his rucksack he grabbed  his binoculars and scanned the horizon, the dead were still sluggish this time of year and the larger herds were long since gone from this part of the country. Still, Colin didn’t like to leave it to chance to be caught by the dead or worse yet the living.

 

“Nothing, figures.” It had been over five days since he had reached the coast, waiting for word from across the ocean. He brought up his binoculars again to his eyes to scan the water, he dropped his binoculars, only to look again to ensure that he wasn’t seeing anything. A smile crept over his face, he was dying for good news. The other shipment never made it and this shipment was already over a week late. Colin reached into his pocket to reach for his mirror and began to signal the ship. “Come on, come on signal me back.” His heart began to race, a million things went through his mind. Maybe they were all dead, maybe they were hijacked by pirates, maybe the dead learned to sail and were coming to get him. Colin shook his head, being alone wasn’t good for one’s sanity. Finally he could see it, the flashing from the ship, and a wave of relief swept over Colin’s body, and he was back to not being able to feel his toes. 

 

The ship had sailed from Portugal or what was left of it, one of the only known ports that had made contact a few years ago. The trade had been good for the communities, created a sense that maybe this apocolypse wasn’t forever. Colin never knew the world from before, but he would very often hear stories from the few older people he met on his travels, talking about musicians, and movies, and parties, and camping without fear of the dead, and when the dead...stayed dead. 

 

Finally the giant ship dropped anchor, and a large bearded man boarded a lifeboat with several boxes of supplies. Colin took his queue to set up the trade and grabbed the boxes on the caravan attached to Charlie. It was a collection of salvaged goods, and crafted, Europe apparently had a taste for American music, and he collected several CD’s. He filed through the box, Justin Bieber, Katy Perry, Bob Dylan, a best of Madonna CD, he had no idea who these people were, he never stayed at a community long enough to have much stuff.  There was a box of cotton garments, cigarettes, country ham, several letters, and pelts. 

 

The large bearded man washed ashore, “Bom dia!” The two strangers hugged, “Habla...uh...english?”

The bearded man laughed heartily, “I’m Portuguese, not Spanish and yes they made sure to send a guy who speaks English. My dad he uh, before all this, studied at Penn State, he taught me before he uh-”

“Yeah”

Tragedy was never in short supply in the world, and generally no one wanted to pour their heart out to every stranger they met. 

 

Colin gestured to the stranger, “So this is our shipment, there’s quite a few letters, mostly civilian, some letters to the Kingdom of Vichy I think, the usual salted and cured meats, a couple crates of beer, a small community in the midwest sent cheese, can you believe it? They were so insistent.”

 

The bearded man laughed, “People are funny man, I got a crate filled with stale ass cookies all the way from Scotland. But pay the travel fair, I’ll send whatever you want.”

 

“Well show me what you got and I think we’re good.” The bearded man nodded, Colin rifled through crates of “stale ass cookies”, salted cod, olive oil, letters, records, toothpaste (which was in high demand), colognes and perfumes from Vichy, and wines.”

 

“Yeah everything looks good here, tell me though, why didn’t we hear from the last ship?”

The bearded man looked sullen, “We lost contact with a community to the south, in Algiers.”

“Attacked?”

He shook his head, “No, plague, we tried to send antibiotics but it was too late, those who weren’t dead, were quickly consumed and turned.” 

“Did it spread?” Colin asked

“I don’t think so, it was burned to the ground to be sure, can’t take any chances.”

 

Colin agreed, the world was much safer and more prepared now than it was in the past when it all started, but even still as he found out, the world was still so fragile. 

 

“Sorry to hear.”

 

“Yeah well, it’s bound to happen everywhere I guess. That’s why I like to be on the move you know?”

“Yeah...I know. I’ve seen my fair share of it.”

 

The conversation was interrupted by a small group of the dead, “Well, company’s arrived.” The two strangers shook hands and goods were exchanged, “Til we meet again stranger”

 

Colin saddled up, and left the port and the hungry company behind heading towards his first drop off, Boston, MA. 

 

Colin rode up the 3A, checking the time on his watch. 3:22 PM, it would be dark in a few hours, but it would only take about an hour to make it to Boston’s front gates. He had a shipment of several crates of Vichy wines and cologne to bring to Boston, as it was the eastern coast’s largest safe settlement. He had to admit to himself that he was very glad that the ride was very uneventful, and the unrelenting smell was almost entirely eradicated. 

 

Boston was recaptured nearly 10 years ago, he was still a teenager when he heard about the raid to take it back from the dead. He remembered groups of men rallying people from community to community to fight for them. Promised them that they could live in safety and have all the food and booze they could carry if they succeeded. Colin scoffed outlout, most of those men, and some women never came back. It was ugly, and they were unprepared. They fought in the summer, not enough armor for everyone, used guns and drew more, and more, and more. They shouldn’t have succeeded, but they did, but no one ever had the same story about how they won. Colin gave up trying to get a straight answer years ago, instead Boston was a thriving city now, the heart of the North Eastern Seaboard, a major trading hub for all the other smaller communities. 

 

“Halt stranger!”

 

Colin stayed his horse and waved to the guard, “Pony express, just got shipment from abroad.”

The guard gripped his pike, and pursed his lips, “Care if I look inside the caravan?”

Colin shook his head, “No by all means. Any commotion on the path?”

The guard used his pike to move open the tarp to reveal the back of the caravan, “What’s in here?”

“Uh, salted fish, wine, stuff like that.”

The guard loosened up a little, “And uh, it’s been pretty quiet, we’ve been sending teams to clear every week, seems to be working.”

“Good, good. So are we good?”

“Yeah, sorry, you can go.”

 

Colin was thankful it wasn’t like some of the meetings he’s had with some guards from some communities, and took his hand off his hidden rifle, hidden under a blanket. He didn’t enjoy killing, especially not the living. 

 

Then he came upon it, the giant cedar wall, the wall that protects the 500 square miles of reclaimed Boston. A giant moat surrounded the wall, and like a Medieval castle of old, a drawbridge. Colin signaled the tower guard with his mirror, and the drawbridge opened to let him in. 

 

Colin put on his trademark grin, “Let’s sell some shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

Above the drawbridge was a sign, “God be with us as he was with our fathers.” 

“Then we truly are lost.” Colin said back to himself. He rode Charlie into the front courtyard just inside the outer wall, and dismounted. Rifling through his rucksack he grabbed an inventory list, and walked towards an office, which was just an old house which had been converted to a small barracks and inventory house. He straightened his old lambskin jacket, and knocked on the door and waited for his target.

 

“Hello?” An older man answered the door, and he held a cane. His eyes were old, but Colin saw, definitely not stupid. “I’m here with several crates of supplies, letters, food...”

 

The old man banged his cane, “You’re all fucking vultures, you know that.”

Colin nodded, “I know, you don’t like me, and I don’t like me. But I have the goods that people want, and can’t get. And some of them are very legitimate I assure you.”

“Hmmph, I bet. So why are you here talking to me then? Drop off your stuff at the inventory processing centre and be done with it. Don’t bother me.”

“Well sir, I would but then I’d get Boston currency, and...well most communities outside the safe zone don’t accept it.”

 

The older man didn’t seem to believe the reason, but knew where it was going. “Sure, you’re a legitimate business man doing business all over God’s green earth. So what do you want then?”

Colin thought a moment, “Well, now that you mention it, I have a few customers behind the second wall, I think they’d be interested in a few items” As Colin talked, he grabbed a bottle of a 2004 L'Arbre Blanc Vin de Pays du Puy de Dôme Vinzelle, and waved it in front of the old man. “I’d hate not to be able to do business in this lovely community.”

The old man grabbed the bottle and looked it over, “Agreed,” he put the bottle on a small desk, and then called for a guard, “Escort this man to the inner wall, and make sure he’s gone by sunrise.”

“Of course sir.”

Colin looked back to the older man, “Good doing business with you.” He wished he had a hat he could tip, maybe he’d buy one in town. 

“Come this way now” the guard ordered. 

 

Saddling up again, Colin followed the guard down the path and past the courtyard. Tradesmen were still working well into the night, he supposed no one wanted to be near the butcher, the blacksmith or tanners. Colin held his nose as he passed the tannery, he could get used to the smell of the dead, but not whatever the hell that was. The guard noticed his reaction and laughed, “outsiders”.

 

The inner wall was made of stone and brick, made from the left overs from what was left of the city when it was destroyed. If he knew anything about history, he might have been sad to know that several portions of the wall were made from 17th century buildings, but he didn’t. The wall surrounded 250 square miles, where the more important civilians lived, and where the wealth Colin was looking for lived. He saw torches being lit all over the city, and a few gas lamps. “I thought Boston had electricity now?”

The guard replied back, “we do, it’s just not enough to power the whole city, especially overnight. So most of the city uses candles and torches.”

Colin scratched his nose, “dangerous innit?”

The guard laughed, “Of course, but these people are more afraid of the dark than a fire.”

“Here we are.” The guard dismounted his horse and went inside a small office, and quickly the second door began to creak open. “I’ll see you at sunrise.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite you.” The guard laughed as Colin said that, “No, I suppose I wouldn’t like that.”

Finally, Colin grabbed his makeshift map of the city. He was looking for a tavern, The Shiny Pumpkin. He held the map in several different directions, but had trouble reading the tiny writing by the distant flickering candle light, and the last of the sunlight was gone. Sighing, he rolled the map back up and tucked it into his inside pocket. He patted his pocket and found his small silver cigarette case and matches and struck a match to light a thin French cigarette. 

 

Exhaling smoke Colin looked up at the skies, the gas lamps made it hard to see the stars, it wasn’t like it was out on the road. He appreciated the safety that came with the walls, and people, but there was nothing like the road. He dismounted off his horse, and rode her to a post, “Be good Charlie, I have some business.” He patted Charlie on the side, and received a snort in response. 

 

“Bad ‘abit you got there.”

“Huh?” Colin was lost in thought

“Smoking, bad habit.” Colin turned around and saw a younger man speaking to him

Colin laughed, “yeah, it sure is. I’m a fan of vice.”

“Since you’re here, I’m looking for the Shiny Pumpkin.” The man Colin down, and his eyes looked up appearing to be recalling the information. “Well,” The man tapped his foot, “I believe it’s on the corner of Merchant’s Row and State St.” Colin looked around, “Sorry, I’m not sure where I am, I’m not from not around here.”

 

The man motioned to go north, “then take a right right up on State, can’t miss it. You’ll hear it before you’ll see it.”

“Thanks,”

“Yeah, no problem.” The man bobbed his head slightly as a courtesy and was on his way. 

 

Back on the horse, he let his horse trot north, the sounds of the hooves on the pavement echoing off the buildings. He never got used to seeing light, civilization, sounds of talking, laughter. He was too accustomed to looking over his shoulders and the moans of the wind, and the dead. People in towns like these didn’t like people like Colin, drifters. They didn’t trust him, and Colin preferred it that way, it made it easier not to miss people when they died, or when another community fell. They all fell eventually.

 

A slight chill in the air caused Colin to zip up his leather jacket, winter was already fading, and with it the safety in traveling the country. He didn’t mind the excitement too much, and it beat sleeping in the cold. He could hear the tavern before he saw it, there was something about Boston moonshine that could burn people up and make them that rowdy. Colin tussled his hair before tying his horse and wagon to a post outside, cracked his neck and entered the tavern. Looking around for the right face, trying not to be too obvious he leaned on the bar and ordered a Canadian Whisky, or at least they were claiming it was Canadian Whisky. Bartenders across the country couldn’t be trusted, he was sure it was the same shit moonshine but a few dollars more. He didn’t want to cause a fuss, so he ordered it neat and sat a table, and put his legs up, and his hat down covering his eyes so he could continue to scan the room.

 

There was always somebody, and without fail he spotted him, or rather her. She was a plain looking woman, he thought it was probably the person the guy from New Haven told him to look out for. An important job in Boston, he said, pays well, go to the Shiny Pumpkin at the end of April. Well, Colin thought to himself, I’ll be the judge of that. Colin tipped his hat to the woman as she looked towards the stranger at the table. “Can I get you a drink Ma’am?” Her eyes and Colin’s locked, and she acknowledged the phrase, and sat at the table.

 

She placed a bundle wrapped in moth eaten blue and white cloth, her hands visibly shaking. “Sir, it’s all I have.” Colin moved his boots off the chair, and unwrapped the cloth, “So, what’s the job then? Special package need to go somewhere, need something important?” The woman said nothing, and began to chew her nails. Colin unwrapped the cloth to reveal what it was, coins, medals, jewellery. It wasn’t the usual objects people tried to barter with, these were personal objects with high personal value. He picked up a few of the medals, they were from former military service, from long before. He picked up a bronze medal, WWII, others from Vietnam, Afghanistan, other countries he had never heard of. “Please, it’s all I have, I need this done, can you do this?”

He frowned, “Now these will pay my fees, these are gold, silver, bronze. But I have to ask again, what is the job.”

 

The woman looked down again, “We received a letter from Hope, Washington 6 months ago.”

“Washington?” Colin choked out, it had been some time since he’s gone that far West.

“Yes, our daughter left us to go West, we didn’t want her to go, it was dangerous crossing the Great Midwest Divide, we begged her not to go, but she was insistent. She heard stories of the communities out West, thought it would be better out there.”

Colin was silent, there was a lot of stories of out West, not all of them good. He didn’t want to worry this very obviously worried mother of hearing about the community outside former LA, it was a lot like Boston. Few years ago it attracted the attention of a horde 100,000 strong of the dead traveling from Central America after fever probably ripped through the communities there. 

 

“So tell me about what you want me to do?”

“We’ve begun hearing reports that the routes into Washington and Oregon are cut off, we’ve heard from a few travellers, and my mind is just racing, oh God, Oh God...”

Colin grabbed the hand of the woman, “I am sure she’s fine, the people out West are strong, very strong.”

Western communities were very strong Colin knew, aggressive too, they got hit harder than most of the rest of the country, other than the south, except the West dealt with battling the elements that seemed hell bent on wiping humanity off the map, then there was that damn volcano. 

Colin gripped harder onto the woman’s hand, “your daughter is fine.”

The woman used her other hand to reach for a small finely knitted handkerchief, and wiped her face, “I need you to bring her home.”

 

Colin dropped the woman’s hand, and pursed his lips, “She may not want to come home.”

“I don’t fucking care what she wants,” The woman yelled, a slight warble in her voice, more tears came out, “Please, I’ve given you all I have to trade. Her father is getting sick and I just need her back home.” The woman opened a small brown bag and in it placed on the table a polaroid picture. “This is my daughter, Theresa, tell her that I’m sorry and please just bring her back home.”

Colin wrapped up the items in the blue and white cloth and put it in his bag, and handed the woman his hand, “okay, you have a deal.”.

 

Colin left the bar, back into the chilly air outside, amazed he allowed himself to take on the job. But, as he patted his bag, it sure paid well. He’d have to lessen the load he was carrying before he could hit the open road, traveling across the Great Midwestern Divide was dangerous enough, he didn’t want to add 100lbs and a rickety wagon to it as well. He knew just where to go, where there was few questions asked and they didn’t pay in Boston dollars. 


	3. Chapter 3

Sun was just peaking up over the horizon when he heard a rapid and heavy knock on the inn door. “I’m leaving I’m leaving, Jesus!”

A booming voice from the other side didn’t seem happy, “Get your fucking shit out of here stranger, we have no room for scum like you.”

Colin laughed, “Scum? Come on, I’m an asshole, but scum?”

 

That statement didn’t get a reply, “What? Too good to reply to me now?” Sighing Colin grabbed his bag and flung it over his shoulder, and grabbed his saddle, rife,  and saddlebag, which was heavy from trading last night. Tightening his belt, the door burst open and two men, with a head or two on Colin grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him out of the inn. “Hey, come on now, this isn’t necessary.” The two men began laughing, “Oh we think it is.”

 

Boston really didn’t take kindly to drifters like Colin, he never stayed long enough to figure out why. But he assumed it had something to do with the goods and services he and his kind traded in. Traders like Colin didn’t trade in coins and common currency, they traded in secrets, finery, contraband, and some traded people. Not Colin, as he said he was an asshole, but not scum. He was thankful he was smart enough to sleep in his boots, since he was not willing to ride half naked across the country. He was dropped, more like thrown on the dirt in front of Charlie, which elicited an indifferent snort. “Well good morning to you too, jerk.” With a pounding head from last night’s nightcap, he saddled up, straightened his clothes, and placed his hat on his head and squeezing his body, galloped out of the community of Boston. 

 

He got a middle finger from a couple guards, Colin wasn’t a higher road kind of guy. He was just a guy, so he returned the favour.

 

As soon as he was out of sight, he made sure his rifle, and pistol was loaded. After ensuring that, he once again checked the contents of his bags. Could never be too careful, people had become too complacent in the decades after the fall, as Colin knew all too well communities sprang up, grew, and fell all the time. It wasn’t always the dead, it was rarely the dead. The dead were dumb, weak. People were smart, evil, strong. Colin had read several history books from libraries all over the country, he found it interesting how similar life had reverted back to the ages of castles, and moats, and siege warfare. Armies were drafted, bloated and diseased bodies flung over walls, sickness spread just as fast as it did in the past. There was one notable difference, in those days, the dead didn’t come back. 

 

The road was still very clear from the efforts of Boston and surrounding communities, for which he was grateful. There was nothing worse than having to ride a horse through brush, or the dead infested highways of cars from decades past. No one could quite figure out why some of the dead just refused to completely decompose, no scientific reason for them to work, but they did, like a ghoul from a supernatural tale. The air was beginning to warm, and Colin was a little warmer than he liked, but not too uncomfortable. The air would soon bring spring, and with it rain, flowers, growth, and the dead. 

 

He pulled out a map, and a compass. Holding on the reigns Charlie stood still, he was currently heading south towards Maryland, and by his calculations would probably be a 4-5 day journey. If he didn’t want any trouble in NYC he’d probably have to spend a day to completely avoid it. New York City was a mess of several groups of people attempting to reclaim the city, and unlike Boston, not succeeding. Inside he knew were several groups of gangs who wished not to be disturbed, and worked amongst the dead. Most were scavengers and thieves, they preyed on those on the road who were not prepared for them, and would retreat back to their base inside the city. Some were violent, and waged wars on other communities, but like all of them they knew they were free to do as they wished. No one wanted to enter the city, that city was the dead’s city, and they could have it. 

 

He rolled up the map, and placed in his inside pocket, along with the compass. He had a drop off first before heading west, to the Hilltop community. They would probably be a little more excited to see him than in Boston, he came with information, and contraband that he could probably pawn off as medicine. People loved their contraband. Colin took out another French cigarette and lit in before setting off again. It was a bad habit, Colin agreed, but it was a lovely habit to have on a day like this. 

 

His mind drifted back to the job he just picked up, and he looked at the photo of Theresa. He so rarely got to know people’s names, he preferred not to know them. It was harder to be upset at losing people if they didn’t have a name, then they remained someone else. But he knew this girl’s name, Theresa. She was smiling in the photo, outside, the sun shining. Why did she leave? He’d have to ask, sometimes people just want to leave, they have the insatiable wanderlust, other times the mourning parent seeking to bring their child home wasn’t as it seemed and there was some other darker purpose. He wasn’t that kind of trader. No, he thought, if it came to that he’d solve that problem. Theresa, his mind repeated her name again, Theresa. 

 

Finally the trader couldn’t ignore the signs that he was hungry any longer and rode off the path, out of sight of trouble. He had brought enough food for the week, enough to last to Hilltop. Still, sometimes Colin was still a worrier. He opened a mason jar filled with apple sauce, and with it a few rations of salt pork. If he dipped the salt pork in the applesauce he could pretend, almost that it was a pork chop, a proper pork chop on a plate in a nice inn some place. The birds had already returned to the forests, and the leaves had begun to bud, threatening to emerge. He kept an eye on the birds, enjoying the song, but an even keener ear for their silence. Something about the dead, everything living thing was repulsed and fled. Licking his fingers of the rest of his ration of apple sauce he heard it, or rather the lack of it. The birds he noticed had stopped singing, then from the east they flew. His hand instinctively went for the blade strapped to his left hip, some prefered guns, but ammo may no longer be as scarce, it attracts too much attention to the living and dead. 

 

He smelled the guest before he saw it, he couldn’t even tell if it had been male or female, its body naked, and looked more akin to muddy bark than skin, and its eyes, if it ever had any were long since gone or...chewed out. Colin didn’t rush over to kill it yet, still concerned if the guest had any more friends, it didn’t appear that way. Colin whistled to his guest, and like a trained animal it grunted in acknowledgement and came towards the trader, it’s arms extended in a ghoulish gesture. With a wet  _ THUNK _ sound the blade went into the back of the skull, and the remains went limp. Wiping the blade clean against his denim pants, he placed the blade back onto his hip, and set off South once more. 


	4. I hate New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin gets stuck just outside of New York due to a storm

An old knee injury from several years ago began to ache, which caused Colin to realize that the pressure in the air had changed and a storm was coming. He didn’t plan to be stuck on the road in a rainstorm with low visibility, so he head off the i 87 and into Yonkers. He didn’t like being stuck so close to New York City, and it made him nervous, and Charlie was already badly spooked. He attempted to calm his horse, but she was having none of it. A large thunderclap boomed behind, causing Charlie to buck, “You’re a real bitch Charlie, you know that?” Colin shouted. Charlie let loose a series of snorts and whinnies, which just caused Colin to lose his temper and curse. He was glad that no one was around to watch a grown man argue with a horse, let alone lose. 

 

After the horse had calmed down, Colin trotted down the street of the abandoned town looking for a place to wait out the storm. A small brick garage next to an old abandoned restaurant, “Carlito’s Pizzeria and Restaurant”, Colin said out loud. Charlie didn’t seem to care about pizza. “What do you know, you’re just a horse.” Colin replied back rolling his eyes. He dismounted, and walked towards the metal door. The light brown brick threatened to fall apart at any moment, and Colin began to question his decision, but he had no time to change his mind as the rain began to fall, lightly at first. Another thunderclap, louder this time quickened the process. He reached for his blade on his hip, and put his ear to the metal door. Nothing. A light rap on the door, to awaken any sleeping ghouls inside. Nothing. Finally he went to bend down to pick up the door. Locked.

 

“Of course, just my fuckin-” Colin was interrupted by the beauty of it all. The door was locked, but the window wasn’t, and some fool from years ago had built a makeshift ramp. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Stay here.”

Colin jumped over the chainlink fence beside the garage and carefully made his way up the ramp, each step threatened to collapse, groaning, and swaying. “Oh God, I don’t want to die in Yonkers.”

Another step caused an even louder groan, “not fucking Yonkers, please.” He crawled through the open window, and into an upper floor of the garage. Several inches of dust covered everything inside, nothing alive had been in here for at least a decade. He walked down the small ladder to the ground, and unlatched the front garage door. After a few minutes of negotiation he finally got Charlie to come inside the dark hovel. As a treat he reached inside his bag and gave her a couple of apples, which she greedily accepted. 

 

The storm began blowing, and whistling through the small cracks around the windows on the second floor. Colin dragged a dusty tartan blanket that had oil stains from a long since defunct automobile and walked up the ladder to sleep upstairs in the museum of yesteryear. Listening to the storm howl outside, he thought of places he had been, and places he would go, and slowly drifted off. 

 

The fingers of dawn’s daylight began to creep their way into the garage, the storm had since blown away. The comfort of the hard floor didn’t succeed in leaving Colin with a peaceful sleep, and as soon as the light reached Colin’s eyes, he awoke. His dreams faded in a few moments as he gained his bearings again. Storm. Yonkers. Garage. Colin rubbed his eyes, and folded up the blanket and put on his boots. Charlie began getting restless, Colin recognized the signs. She was born and trained well after the world became what it was. She knew what was going outside, well before he did. She knew not to make much noise, but it didn’t matter. He could never quite figure it out but sometimes the dead just seemed to sense where the living were and like moths to a flame just come, and come, and come. 

 

He saw them, it was a group of five, no six he corrected himself. They began banging on the garage door, they wouldn’t be able to get in, but they were making an awful racket that would attract more if there were any, and knowing this area, there would be. Praying to whomever was listening, Colin started down the ramp. each step groaning, and squeaking as if to cry out in mercy. Jumping down on the ground, he whistled towards the group. All their heads snapped to look at their potential meal, it was then Colin noticed something particular about this group. They looked fresh, no more than a few months if that, and well fed, and clean. Usually if you came across a fresh body, it was diseased or starved. Not these. Colin grabbed his knife and thrust it six times into each head, then there was a neat pile of bodies. Pleased with his work, he walked up the ramp which was hopefully for the last time and unlocked the latch to walk Charlie out. 

 

Charlie didn’t much care to even be near the dead, when actually dead. But Colin guessed that these bodies may actually have worthwhile items on them. Older people, from the time before still were unsettled by the younger generation’s ease of no longer seeing the dead as persons and had few reservations of pickpocketing the dead. There was no time for morality out on the road, and Colin had done some questionable things, but he was alive. The dead have all the time in the world for morals. At least it is what Colin tells himself before he drifts off, that he had to do all the things he did to stay alive. 

 

He is right on the bodies, the female body was carrying a backpack filled with canned goods. It seemed hastily packed, it didn’t seem well like they were prepared for a trip, but grabbed whatever was available. It was then that he noticed the stab wounds in the chest and stomach, that’s what killed them. A good sign to leave, if there ever was one. Standing up and rubbing his hands on his denim pants to rub off the filth, he could hear screaming over the wind towards the south. Charlie’s ears began twitching, gunshots quickly followed after the shouting, followed by holloring. This was no place to stay, Colin mounted up quickly, and zipped up his jacket, and grabbed his rifle from the saddle bag and slung it around his shoulders. 

 

He hopped he would avoid the shouting and gunshots, but he too he had to go south to the New Jersey Turnpike. Stretching his fingers before grabbing the reins, he left at a gallop. It didn’t take very long after crossing the Hudson River that he began to smell smoke, wrapping a scarf around his face he continued. As he continued down the 95, he saw the smoke billowing in the air, thick and already the putrid smell of plastic wafting towards him. Taking it as a cue, he got off the main road not wishing to attract attention. Curiosity got the best of him, and he made his way towards the smoke, making sure he wasn’t followed. 

 

He could see it across a field, it was a settlement, a small size. Colin guessed it was less than a year old, the fools he nearly said outloud. Only people with no knowledge of the region would have tried to build a settlement so close to the city. They had no chance of survival out here once they were discovered. He moved in closer to see the extent of the damage, whoever it was made quick work of the plywood walls surrounding the encampment, and lit what they could on fire. Spray painted in large orange print read “THIS BELONGS TO THE DEAD”, doubting it was the actual dead that wrote the sign, took it as a sign to leave before the other dead showed up.

He had begun to attract a ravenous crowd, slowly making their way towards him and Charlie, a group of fifty or more. Jaws slack, and arms out in a disturbing gesture for an embrace. The constant moan from their mouths when they saw something. Clicking his heels into Charlie he turned to leave, he heard a cry, “Please take me with you!”.    
  
Colin looked around for the voice, but couldn’t spot it. It could be a trap he reasoned, his heart quickened. He nearly hit himself for being so stupid to want to see what had happened here. Of course he knew what happened, why did he need to see it! He scanned everywhere, and the dead were gaining on him. Until he saw her, his and her eyes locked. Somehow the dead hadn’t heard her screaming over the cacophony of the fire raging elsewhere. He knew she was going to try and run, he tried to gesture no. She mustn't have seen the crowd already surrounding her, then she decided to make her move, foolishly towards him. She was already surrounded, she should have stayed hidden and waited. He knew it was too late already, he frowned and leaned forward in his seat galloping away. 

 

“NO!”

“FUCK YOU”

“Please! Please!”

 

He shook his head, what was he supposed to do. “What was I supposed to do!” Charlie had no retort for that, riding as quickly as she could. “Don’t you have a Goddamn response for that?”

Still silence. He passed several signs:

 

“The Dead Belong Here, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.”

“JOIN US OR THEM”

“Leave now, and not return!”

 

“She might have made it you know, it’s not impossible.”

 

More screaming came from behind him, he didn’t even bother to look behind him. He didn’t want to know, or imagine. 

 

“I hate New York”


End file.
